Rishi Brihaspati narrowed his eyes, scanning the dense jungle ahead. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
He saw that figure.
The forest was lush, teeming with life. Flowers bloomed brightly, vines coiled gently around the trees. In the center of a gravel-strewn clearing stood a massive white stone. Draped across it, lying on his side in silence, was a figure clothed in flowing white.
Surrounding the stone was a simple fence, fashioned from broad banana leaves. The leaves swayed lazily in the breeze, forming a makeshift barrier that shielded the clearing from wind, rain, and fallen debris. Their gentle shade cast a cool tranquility over the scene.
"…Indra," Brihaspati murmured.
"Indra…" echoed Rishi Kashyapa, his eyes narrowing as he studied his son intently.
"O Indra…"
Even Vayu, Varuna, and the other disgraced Devas stared wide-eyed, stunned by the sight before them.
O Indra! Awaken… defeat Vajranga. The gods, hearts full of silent prayers, waited breathlessly.
Uchchaihshravas, the divine horse, flicked its ears and shook its mane. With a powerful snort, it neighed sharply, as if it too had recognized the sleeping god.
Vajranga's eyes sharpened, locked onto the figure on the stone.
"So he was really preparing…"
"Indra!"
His voice rang out, deep and cutting.
Before him lay the one who had helped Vishnu vanquish Hiranyaksha… who had toppled Hiranyakashipu… who had slain the dreaded Hayagriva.
The Asura King Slayer.
"He's… still in penance?" Kashyapa whispered, startled.
From where he stood, he could feel a dense, steady current of divine energy radiating from Indra's resting form. The power of relentless austerity. Tapasya.
And judging by the clean, well-maintained surroundings, someone had clearly been caring for this place. A follower, perhaps?
Kashyapa's eyes swept across the quiet perimeter. The ground had been swept, the leaf-fence freshly repaired. Yes… Someone had prepared this space with care.
But they were nowhere in sight.
"We should return another time," Kashyapa urged. "He is still deep in penance; this is not the moment."
But Vajranga said nothing.
He leapt.
Boom!
Like a meteor crashing from the skies, Vajranga slammed into the ground, shaking the earth. Dust exploded into the sky. The impact carved a crater into the clearing, scattering stone and leaf alike.
Through the cloud of dust, a massive silhouette emerged broad-shouldered and unyielding. A red cloak billowed behind him. He held a colossal mace across his shoulders, and his eyes blazed with unshaken resolve.
"I'm here to challenge you! Indra, wake up and face me."
Vajranga's voice thundered across the grove, cold and commanding.
He didn't care that Indra was in meditation. He didn't care that the god was unarmed, unprepared.
As he had already issued the challenge and alerted the opponent. This was a battlefield now.
Boom!
The muscles in his arms tensed like drawn bowstrings, sinew cracking like firewood. With a roar, Vajranga hurled the giant mace straight toward Indra.
Brihaspati's eyes flew wide. Kashyapa's breath caught in his throat.
Too fast!
He was attacking before Indra could even awaken!
The bound gods, watching from afar, gasped in horror.
"Not good!" Surya muttered, teeth clenched.
"He should have waited until Indra was awake!" Vayu groaned.
"If you've got the guts, drop us down there and let us wake him ourselves!" Agni shouted angrily.
"What do we do now?" Varuna asked, clearly panicked, his divine composure slipping.
"If only I weren't trapped… I'd splash him with Soma!" Soma groaned, writhing in place.
Varuna blinked, then snapped, "With water, you idiot! That's my domain. I'm better at splashing than you anyway!"
Boom!
The mace tore through the air with terrifying force.
It closed the distance in an instant, appearing right in front of Indra's resting form.
A pale, invisible light shimmered faintly from Indra's skin. It was not chakra, nor aura, it was a dharmic protection. The sacred energy surged around him in silence.
Clang!
The moment Vajranga's colossal mace touched Indra's waist, it froze in place by an unseen force.
Then, with a loud boom, it was repelled violently.
The mace spun through the air like a disc of judgment before crashing down at Vajranga's feet with a thunderous crack.
Vajranga blinked, stunned. His breath caught in his throat.
From behind, Rishi Brihaspati exhaled slowly. Rishi Kashyapa, too, relaxed. Their expressions softened, small smiles appearing like morning sunlight through clouds.
Surya chuckled quietly. Vayu and Varuna exchanged glances and nodded, relief etched on their faces.
"He's protected," Kashyapa murmured, visibly moved. "A divine safeguard… a blessing."
But Vajranga's smile had long since faded. His face darkened, fury seeping into every line. He lifted his right hand, and in an instant, a pitch-black bow materialized in his grasp, a weapon not of devas, but of Asuras.
He pulled the bowstring taut. His massive arms crackled with raw strength, divine malice radiating from his limbs.
He fired.
A scorching arrow, lit with celestial fire, soared skyward, then arced like a falling star, descending upon Indra like divine retribution.
Boom!
Flames erupted in a pillar of heat and light, licking the edges of the stone.
But the moment the fire touched Indra's body, it bounced away, repelled as though cast out by the heavens themselves. The arrow spiraled back into the sky, fizzling into harmless cinders.
Rishi Kashyapa chuckled and shook his head. "You cannot touch him now."
The devas stared in awe, and even they began to smile.
Rishi Bṛhaspati pressed his palms together in devout añjali. A brilliant effulgence rose from his form, seven radiant streams of light wove around him, crowning his head like celestial garlands. From behind his shoulders, a hundred resplendent wings spread wide, shimmering like the dawn-streaked horizon of Satya Loka.
His voice, deep and sonorous like the chanting of the Sāmagāna, rose into the air:
"Oṃ Namah Śakrāya!
Oṃ Namah Śakrāya!
Eyes like the Āditya, blazing with the fire of righteousness!
Golden-hued skin that dispels the darkness of the worlds!
The sound of Pāñcajanya echoes across the cardinal directions!
All glory to the King of Svarga, whose valor knows no end!"
His face shone with divine joy, and as his voice carried, the air itself seemed to stir in reverence. The hymn coursed through the sacred grove like vāyu bearing the fragrance of celestial blossoms, pure, timeless, and filled with truth.
As his hands moved with reverence, a gleaming bone-white plate and a small golden stick manifested in the air before him. He began to strike the plate with measured grace.
Ta-ta-ta-ta… ta-ta-ta!
With each rhythm, with every beat of his devotion, lotus petals began to fall from the sky, snow-white, immaculate, glowing with divine stillness.
Rishi Kashyapa lifted his face toward the skies.
He reached up and caught a petal between his fingers, his heart strangely light.
A deep peace filled the air. For a moment, all was still.
"What a sacred voice," Rishi Kashyapa murmured, awe deepening the creases of his face.
"That divine sound... it stirs even the depths of the Kṣīra Sāgara. It was this very resonance that aided in Hiranyakṣa's downfall… The celestial armor never fades, and the hālahala consumes all assaults without a trace… The one who quelled the Ugra Nṛsiṃha with his Vajra now calls the heavens back to balance."
As Rishi Brihaspati's chants continued, his voice layered with percussion—da-da-da-da... da-da-da!—each beat reverberated like the steady tolling of celestial bells. Under this holy rhythm, Vajranga's might found no purchase. His strikes, his weapons, and his fury all failed. None of them so much as grazed Indra. The divine shield held firm, as if consecrated by the cosmos itself.
"So strong…" Rishi Kashyapa's voice trembled, not with fear, but with reverence. The sight before them was beyond comprehension, beyond even the Rishi's many lifetimes of wisdom.
But something shifted in Vajranga.
The chant, the invincible calm of his opponent, gnawed at his pride. His muscles tensed, his breathing deepened, and his heavy steps thundered through the gravel. Like a storm gathering force, he advanced. The gods watched silently as Vajranga approached the resting Indra, his face dark as monsoon clouds.
He lifted his massive hand, fingers curling into a monstrous fist. With the howl of a volcano, he roared and unleashed a punch with enough force to split mountains.
The ground exploded with sound.
Yet Indra did not flinch.
The great white stone beneath him began to glow. A subtle shimmer at first, then a radiant burst that blinded the eyes. From that sacred stone, a dome of pure light surged outward. It wasn't a mere chakra. It was divine will, solidified into a barrier that repelled Vajranga's attack as easily as wind repels falling leaves.
The impact sounded like two mountains colliding. Vajranga staggered back, confusion flickering through his crimson eyes. "What?!"
He looked again. The shield remained unchipped. It shimmered like the snowy peaks of Kailāsa, brilliant and proud.
"This light… It's like the glow of Kailash!" Roshi Kashyapa exclaimed, stunned beyond words. The gods stared, expressions frozen in disbelief as the white dome held against everything Vajranga hurled at it.
But Vajranga was not one to accept defeat.
With a growl, he clenched both fists and began hammering the light shield with the wrath of a maddened elephant. Over and over, his blows came down, thundering against the divine protection. Each strike sent tremors through the air, splintering silence and breaking rhythm.
The chants faltered.
Rishi Brihaspati's song, once so strong, fell quiet as he looked on with clenched jaw.
And inside the dome, something stirred.
Indra's eyes fluttered beneath closed lids.
In the serenity of his penance, he had been adrift in peaceful dreams, something vague about a massage, soft winds, and absolute quiet. But now, that peace was shattering. The sounds… they weren't from the dream.
Why do I hear gongs and drums? He thought. Why is it shaking?
Slowly, with deliberate calm, Indra opened his eyes.
A thin sliver of golden light escaped from between his lashes.
His breath was steady.
And then he saw it.
A fist the size of a boulder, crashing toward his face.
His pupils focused, mind catching up with the chaos outside.
What in the Mahadeva's name is going on?!
...
Author's note: Virocana, son of Prahlāda and father of Bali, was remembered among the Asuras not for war alone, but for tapas and wisdom. In the Chāndogya Upaniṣad, both he and Indra came before Prajāpati(Brahma), seeking the secret of the Self (ātman).
For many years, they endured discipline, study, and silence. At last, Prajāpati began to unveil the truth, but not all at once. He taught in stages, each lesson a veil that tested their insight.
Virocana, seizing upon an early teaching, returned to the Asuras, believing that the body itself was the Self. To him, the mortal frame was the seat of truth. He taught his kin accordingly, and they embraced a path bound to the material.
Indra, unsettled, doubted this teaching. Again and again, he returned, questioning Prajāpati with humility. At last, he learned that the Self was not the body, nor breath, nor mind, but eternal, luminous, untouched by sorrow or death. This knowledge crowned him lord not only in Svarga but in wisdom.
Yet Virocana did not vanish from legend. In Purāṇic retellings, he was blessed by Sūrya with a radiant crown, a mark of sovereignty that raised him to the height of Deva-like majesty. For a time, he stood as king among the Asuras, clothed in glory.
But the wheel of fate turned. Indra, cunning and vigilant, outwitted Virocana and reclaimed the divine crown, diminishing his rival's claim. Thus, the balance of Svarga was restored, not only by strength of arms, but by truth itself.
Virocana's tale endures as a parable: the throne of heaven is not won by might alone, nor by half-truths. To know the Self is to rule in spirit, for wisdom is the crown that cannot be stolen.
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